Truss Me Up, Buttercup
by AmberAnodyne
Summary: Being captured by a deadly sex goddess isn't so bad.


Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to Bioware.

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><p><strong>Truss Me Up, Buttercup<strong>

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><p>Feigning sleep and waking discretely was a talent Zevran Arainai had learned early in his training. It wasn't something the Crows taught, necessarily, but was a handy enough skill when you lived in cramped quarters with other promising candidates. Candidates who whispered and conspired when they believed others weren't listening.<p>

Over the years he had honed this ability and it had served him well. Enemies and opportunistic bed mates, often one and the same in his line of work, who thought him a slumbering target very rarely had their guard up. It made striking first all the easier, when the true element of surprise was his.

The Antivan's current problem, however, was quite unique. Always before he had played the hapless victim up until the last possible moment, but such actions were the last thing on his mind. This time, he was allowing himself to be bound hand-and-foot by the very targets he had set out to kill. Or be killed _by_, as was his hope when he'd signed on for the mission.

As it was, he no longer felt like meeting the business end of a hostile weapon. It had been his original intent, yes, but seeing as how they weren't killing him outright left other options available. He had come around just in time to hear the order that he be restrained for questioning, and being questioned meant possible alternatives.

Besides, one of his targets- well, _former _targets at this point- was particularly lovely. He figured he would allow himself the pleasure of her touch. At least, he thought, it was her doing the binding and not the other woman he'd seen in the party. The dark haired beauty's scowl suggested her touch would be more punishing than pleasant.

Risking a peek through the lashes of one eye, he saw that it was indeed the Grey Warden herself tying the ropes about his limbs, her small hands deftly working the knots. And what gentle hands they were. Nimble and callous-free, they wrapped his wrists with a gentleness that belied the fierce magic he had seen her manipulate.

And to think he had wished those hands to blast him into oblivion only moments before. There were so many other uses for fingers as delicate as hers. So many other _pleasurable _uses.

Zevran nearly chuckled to himself at the places his mind had begun wandering. He had come to meet his end, and was instead was pondering if the woman kneeling beside him liked to have her ears stroked. Old habits and all that.

He had seduced many enemies in his lifetime, but this had been the one mission where he had no expectations of such skills coming into play. Grey Warden was such a bland title, after all, and the few members of the Order he had ever seen had been hardened soldiers and very dour looking men. Quite unlike the nubile young woman that just finished expertly knotting him into immobility.

When he could hear the small group shift restlessly around him, and the shield-bearing man suggest they kick him to speed up his awakening, the assassin decided it was time to put the charm on.

"Mmmm… Oh… What?"

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><p>Zevran couldn't quite believe that he was alive. There had been a moment when he had been sure that the leading Warden was going to kill him- she evidently did <em>not <em>appreciate being called a deadly sex goddess- and another when the other, the one called Alistair, had protested when she decided to both spare and recruit him. Luckily for him, the warrior had declined when she had snapped that if he would like the assassin dead he could do the deed himself.

He breathed yet though, walking in the center of the small party and enduring the hawk-like scrutiny of the much larger man.

When Zevran flashed a smile his way, the other man's scowl only deepened.

"I'm watching you."

"I can see that, my friend. Quite the watching watcher, you."

"I'm not your friend, let's make that clear. And let me also make it clear that… I'm watching you."

"Duly noted, ser."

Rubbing the rope marks on his wrists thoughtfully, the elf smiled to himself. She had laughed when he'd said that. It was a quiet laugh that he was certain only he and the Qunari beside her could hear. He liked the sound.

Clever hands, skilled with rope, and a rear that taunted him through the fabric of her robes… Zevran decided that the mage sauntering before him could tie him up anytime. With any luck, she'd be a little more forceful next time.


End file.
